


Is This The Time?

by spinninginfinityboy



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Coffee, First Time, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Other, Sexual Frustration, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-10 04:59:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18931756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinninginfinityboy/pseuds/spinninginfinityboy
Summary: It was something that boys did, Polly thought, a little defensively. She knew they did. They hardly seemed to shut up about it. And alright, the mechanics were a little different, but in the process of learning how to fake it convincingly she’d found herself trying out a few things, things she got rather good at, and was not a little put out by the discovery that she couldn’t even snatch five minutes- well, okay, fifteen, if she could get it- to put it to good use. If nothing else, she could use the stress relief.





	Is This The Time?

Military life may have been a wonderful life; it may have been a band of brothers, and steak and bacon every day, and it may have been adventures everywhere you walked, but it didn’t afford all that many opportunities for having a private life.

It was something that boys did, Polly thought, a little defensively. She knew they did. They hardly seemed to shut up about it. And alright, the mechanics were a little different, but in the process of learning how to fake it convincingly she’d found herself trying out a few things, things she got rather good at, and was not a little put out by the discovery that she couldn’t even snatch five minutes- well, okay, fifteen, if she could get it- to put it to good use. If nothing else, she could use the stress relief.

But there were always _people._ Who could possibly have thought there would be so many people in a squad of less than ten? They had a whole wide valley to make camp in, to patrol through, to walk and sleep and relieve themselves. But every time she thought she might have the privacy to, ahem, relieve herself, somebody appeared. Jackrum bellowing orders, or someone coming to change watch, or keep her company on longer watches, or make use of the same sheltered boulder they’d named a makeshift bathroom, or worst of all Wazzer and her faint prayers would begin drifting into earshot. It made it extremely difficult to concentrate. At night there were six of them sleeping in a tent designed for half as many, and somebody always seemed to be awake.

She was starting to get restless.

And of course, Polly knew, it was an Abomination. Everything seemed to be an Abomination in the eyes of Nuggan these days. Mostly Polly was just angry that Nuggan wanted to look too. All she needed was a few moments where nobody would be able to intrude.

Was nobody else having this problem?

Okay, fair’s fair, Wazzer probably wasn’t, given the aforementioned Abominable nature of it all. Shufti she’d overheard complaining to Igorina about the various pains of pregnancy, which might put her off, but Polly couldn’t say for sure. Tonker and Lofty were almost certainly off somewhere creating Abominations of their very own, and to tell the truth Polly was beginning to envy them. Jade certainly couldn’t be; it must sound like a landslide. And Mal…

Mal, of all the squad, seemed to spend the most time alone, slinking off into the shadows in that creature-of-the-night way of his. He could surely find privacy if he needed it. And he seemed so put-together, so self-confident. No tension or frustration there. Something must be an outlet for him.

It wasn’t that Polly couldn’t imagine it. It was that once she started imagining it, she couldn’t seem to stop. She didn’t even know what it was he’d be touching, and that speculation alone kept her up at night with her arms held firmly, determinedly by her sides and dizziness filling her mind at every possibility. And when he was, what thoughts would he be bringing himself off too? He never spoke of someone back home – was there a woman? A man? Did he think _does he think_ about anyone she _you, Polly_ knew? There were nights she woke from sleep and found those images already in her head, a dull, heavy ache between her legs.

The damned vampire probably knew, as well. They could do things like that. Listen to heartbeats, smell changes in emotion, sense body heat. Uncanny bastard.

She tried being angry about it, but taking up a defense only served to make his smile more disarming. Frustrated though it now made her to admit it, she loved his company. The way he joked, so clever and calm you could find yourself second guessing whether or not you were allowed to laugh, crept under her skin. He would let his hand linger at her wrist when she passed him matches for his cigarettes, or hot water for his coffee. On watch he would lean into her shoulder slightly, so casual it had to be deliberate, and so close that when he turned to speak Polly could feel his breath ghosting along her cheek and neck. And he never pushed. Forget frustration; it was _maddening._

She was at the stream, long after the others had gone to bed and far from the lookout post. It was a blind gully. Nobody had any reason to be near her. As she sat on a low rock and did her best to clean her teeth, Polly felt a shift in the shadows and spoke without turning around.

“What do you want, Mal?”

He solidified further and sauntered up beside her, his jacket, belt and shako long discarded. All that remained was his shirt, his trousers, and his grin. A treacherous part of Polly’s brain wondered in which order she’d most like to remove those too.

“Same thing as you, my dear Ozzer. The chance to freshen up before bed. Won’t you join me?”

He knew damn well what he was implying. He was a vampire, it was practically part of the whole process. Get bitten, grow fangs, and develop a penchant for double-entendres and the heaving breasts of fair maidens.

These days Polly wasn’t entirely certain she still fitted that description, and her breasts certainly didn’t heave, but that was far from the point. He knew! And still he wasn’t saying anything, wasn’t giving anything away, so she decided she might as well meet him there.

“If it’s all the same, I’d like some time to myself.”

“The camaraderie of military life getting a little too much for you, is it?” Maladict laughed gently. “I understand. Make sure you wash your hands afterwards, or at least wipe them down. And, Oz?”

“Yes?”

“They do leave the patrols in peace when you patrol in pairs.”

He’d become a part of the scenery before Polly had half a chance to comprehend what he’d said.

For all that, she couldn’t even concentrate enough to enjoy the moment of peace. Polly stormed back to the tent feeling distinctly as though the world was against her. They were losing the war! And she couldn’t even come as she went, so to speak?

“Back so soon, Ozzer?” asked Mal innocently. She ignored him.

*

The next day was a marching day, through two more abandoned towns and across more fields than Polly cared to count. She strode as swiftly as the rest of the squad would allow, and at every rest stop she was first to volunteer for patrol. Keep the body busy, keep the mind busy, listen to the left-right rhythm and don’t allow any room for anything else.  
Evening fell. Lofty and Tonker made their usual pre-dinner patrol, while Shufti lit a cooking fire and Carborundum cleared the ground for them all to make camp. Polly was slurping down a tin mug of saloop, trying to let the flickering shapes of the fire take up residence in her thoughts, and she was certain she was standing alone there until she wasn’t.

“Evening, Ozzer.”

“Corporal.”

Was that a low blow? Possibly, but it didn’t seem to matter really because Maladict didn’t even falter.

“Private Oliver Perks, I’m beginning to get the feeling you’ve had a very long day.”

His voice was low and smooth and despite the total lack of any particular inflection Polly felt her skin beginning to grow hot. The moment’s distraction of conversation had left enough space for a carefully-suppressed thought to weasel in, and she couldn’t even stop it because she had to keep talking.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because you’ve been kicking the same tree stump for so long you’ve now deprived some poor rabbit of a home.”

She looked down. In truth she had barely been aware that she was worrying at the stump with one idle foot, but it lay almost entirely uprooted on the forest floor beside her. Polly sighed.

_What if he wasn’t doing it on purpose?_

Damn it! It was in there now, in her head, with claws and hooks and talons which wedged further in as Maladict huffed out a breath which could have almost been a laugh.

_What if he has no idea that he’s doing it? If it’s not a game, if it’s just him and you, or you and him._

Polly tried to refocus.

“Maybe I’ll call it practice for the next time some foreign Captain tries it on with me,” she replied. This time Maladict really did grin, showing his fangs.

“All I wanted to say was, if you need the energy, join me for a coffee some time.”

Polly considered it, and found she was just too tired to continue sulking.

“Thanks, Mal.”

“My pleasure, Oz.”

“Would you be so kind as to put up the tents? I’m gonna lend Shufti a hand.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, with a lazy salute and a lopsided grin.

She watched Maladict as he walked away, a man’s swagger, a woman’s… well let’s just say she was yet to see another man look quite so good from behind. Although to tell the truth she had never looked before. The other men she knew were either old, and therefore either friendly and paternal or lecherous and foul, and all those her age were just a little annoying. Pushing it all away with another sigh, Polly sat down by Shufti’s fire and began to help cut vegetables, and didn’t so much as think to acknowledge Maladict’s knee resting against hers from his seat on the adjacent rock.

That night, the treacherous thought now lodged so firmly in Polly’s mind whispered a new suggestion into her dreams; _he doesn’t know,_ it said, _he doesn’t know what you think. And he called you ‘sir’._ It swirled through her head and through her body, making her turn restlessly in sleep. _Just a man and a woman, probably, one way or another… what could anybody say to stop it?_ She shivered, and her eyes snapped open to a dark tent filled with apparently sleeping soldiers. Awake and staring at the worn canvas ceiling, Polly crossed her arms tight across her chest with a look of defiance deserving of nobody but a mirror.

*

It was two more days until they were sent on patrol together, two days of hardly a half moment of privacy, not to mention of her whole body reacting in some way to Mal’s presence. Was this what the other girls back home were always on about, when they giggled and blushed around the men? It felt something like it, she supposed. But Polly didn’t want to giggle or blush, or collect flowers or whatever else they had done at home. She was burning up inside with confusion and speculation and _want_ she couldn’t ignore any more.

Mal brought coffee.

It had just finished brewing, in its mysterious way, when Jackrum had bellowed them off their break and on duty. Maladict poured two mugs.

“I’d hate to see it go to waste,” he had said as he passed one to Polly. She’d never had coffee, but she drank it as they made their way to the lookout post, because she was a soldier and a soldier never turns down a hot drink. It was bitter and thin compared to the sweet, milky tea she was used to, but not strictly bad.

All things considered, it was a nice spot. A rocky outcrop covered in trees, where you could see the whole valley without being seen in return. Tonker and Lofty had even dragged a log into position to sit on rather than lean against the scree slopes. Polly accepted the makeshift bench gladly. Maladict was in a tree. When Polly had asked, he’d told her it was a vampire thing. Get up high and find a branch to cling to, you know? She was never sure if he was joking or not about things like that, but it wasn’t worth arguing.

The valley was quiet. Well, no, that wasn’t right; valleys and forests were never quiet, not with the groaning speech of trees and the screeching calls of birds and the scuffles of anything and everything ground-dwelling. But there wasn’t an enemy soldier in sight.

From just above her, Maladict was telling stories. He liked to do that; anecdotes that were probably fantasies, and fairy tales that stung of truth, and teasing jokes at the expense of half the squad. Polly listened and laughed in between mouthfuls of coffee, a quiet sound swallowed by the hills and trees barely after it had reached Mal’s ears. Despite the chill breeze, she felt contentedly warm. Or, at least, warm. Contented was only true so far as she was able to ignore her twisting stomach.

Abruptly, Mal dropped down to face her swinging by his ankles, and this time the laughter burst out of her freely, the sight of his smile suddenly at eye level unexpected and bizarre and the brightest part of a bleak few days. Polly caught a strange flicker in his eyes. A moment passed, then Mal swung up and dropped down again, the right way up this time.

“Everything alright, Mal?”

He was looking at her very intently. Polly adamantly did not blush.

“I gave you coffee.”

Polly realized then that he wasn’t looking at her, so much as he was looking at her mouth. His eyes reflected a fire that wasn’t there. A bundle of suppressed instincts, practically shaking. He always needed coffee. Polly spoke before she had a chance to stop herself.

“Yes, you did. Would you like to taste it?”

And then, out of sheer defiance and a little self-indulgence, Polly kissed him, his eyes falling shut before they could finish widening. True to her promise, she felt Mal’s tongue swipe across her lower lip, and molten heat pooled in her stomach.

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled against her, and then hungry, desperate hands were running through her hair and Polly pushed him down until he was sat on the log and she was knelt atop him. Mal’s head fell back in a gasp as she started to kiss down his neck. On an impulse, she bit him, not quite going for the jugular but certainly aiming to leave a mark. Maladict squirmed and let out a low moan. That sounded promising. She continued, hands gripping at his hips and tugging at his hair and altogether overwhelming them both with the sensation of touch, and heat, real heat now in the cooling evening air. Maladict pulled her closer, blunt fingernails scraping on her lower back.

“Oz…”

“Damn right,” said Polly, her voice deep, and she didn’t have the time nor the willpower to unpack that right now, thank you very much, not with Mal looking like this. Forget dishabille, he was heading rapidly towards debauched, and Polly for one was delighted at the possibility of reaching that destination.

“Coffee,” he mumbled, then “kiss me,” and the two sounded almost the same the way he spoke them, the way he gasped. Polly grinned and obliged with glee. He sucked lightly on her lower lip, humming contentedly. Through the arousal Polly felt a moment of concern and pulled back. Maladict’s eyes were glazed and unfocused. He was shaking.

“Mal… you don’t just want the coffee, right?”

“My dear Oliver,” he replied, voice carefully controlled despite the energy coursing through him. “If I only wanted to drink it, I wouldn’t have given any to you.”

Polly bit back a grin. With a knee between Mal’s spread legs and his thigh between her own, the now-familiar ache demanded louder than ever to be satisfied. She pushed down and stifled a moan. Mal, for his part, was desperately pushing his hips forward.

“Oz- please-”

“What is it, Mal?” she murmured in his ear; to hell with the seductive vampire and the fair young maiden, she’d heard enough folk songs to know where this went now and she knew where she wanted to be standing. Or, as the case may be, lying down.

“Can I touch you?”

She whimpered even at the words, a sound which turned into a gasp as Maladict stood and led her back until she was pressed against the broad trunk of the tree. His eyes and hands explored her body and she returned the favour gladly, tugging him close and wanting to feel anything and everything, anything to soothe the burning inside of her.  
Mal had fallen to his knees in front of her, her trousers already half unbuttoned. Desire rushed through her strong enough to make her legs shake.

Polly tangled one hand in his soft, dark hair, and tried not to cry out as he took her in his mouth. _Gods._ The warmth, the soft pink heat of his lips and the eagerness with which his tongue explored, she came so quickly she astonished herself. And yet Maladict didn’t stop. He continued to kneel, softly building up a little at a time until she was leaning, panting, across the edge for a second time. When she finally crossed it Polly had to cram a fist in her mouth to muffle her cry.

One pale hand was buried between Maladict’s legs, and though the lighting and the folds of fabric made vision difficult Polly couldn’t quite shake the sense of déjà vu. Hadn’t she dreamt this? Dragging Mal to his feet using a fistful of his hair, which made him groan and push his hips forward against nothing, she spun them round until he was pinned upright against the tree. Kissing first his lips then lower down his jaw and neck, pausing here and there to leave the kind of marks an Ins-and-Outs uniform collar wouldn’t quite cover, Polly felt him shiver. His hips were desperately seeking friction. Polly wanted nothing more than to give it to him.

She worked a hand down between them, sliding her fingertips past the waistband of his trousers, but before she could go any further Mal grabbed her wrist. A look of sudden terror glazed his expression.

“Oz… My name’s Maladict. Please.”

Realisation stirred. Polly withdrew her hand and leant forward, resting her forehead against Mal’s. They stood for a second in awkward embrace before Polly kissed him, soft and tender, and felt him kiss back like it was his dying breath. And he would know.

“Mal, it- it doesn’t matter. Maladict, Polly, Oliver, anything, it- I don’t understand what any of it means, but it’s you, and it’s me, and that’s the only thing in this war I haven’t felt lied to about yet.”

The words dropped softly into the space between them. Maladict let out a breath.

“I have never lied to you,” he murmured.

“I don’t know if I have,” admitted Polly, which got a half-hearted laugh. “Shufti, yeah, and Tonker and Lofty, probably, but I- I don’t know. And I’m still Oz, right? Even after… that?”

“You haven’t told me otherwise.”

In the gathering twilight, Mal’s eyes shone, and when they kissed Polly let him take the lead. Heat built once more around them, hands and mouths exploring cautiously, and this time when Maladict took her wrist it was to guide her hand downwards.

Honestly, it was a relief, in a sense. She knew what to do with this.

With a little gentle exploration and a lot of whimpering and moaning from Maladict, Polly began to build up a rhythm, finding where he wanted to be touched and then finding out how to tease. Slowly she felt him fall apart under her ministrations. In an absent moment Polly hoped to Nuggan there wasn’t an enemy patrol about, because she was sure Maladict would alert someone if he didn’t stop making so much noise, and she didn’t have the willpower to stop, not when he looked so beautiful. He was shuddering, but her teasing hands wouldn’t let him go any further. Maladict dragged his eyelids open with noticeable effort and fixed her with a pleading stare.

“Polly- Oz- please, _please_ , more-”

“Oh, more?” replied Polly with a wicked grin. “More teasing, you mean?”

“No!”

It took considerable self-control for Polly to stifle a laugh at the desperation in his voice. Something hot and molten was coiling through the pit of her stomach.

“So then you want to finish?”

“Yes-”

“Yes?”

“Yessir-”

And okay, that was unexpected, but not as unexpected as the surge of desire it triggered within her. Polly couldn’t help but reach down to frantically touch herself. She heard herself murmur “Good lad,” and felt Maladict shudder and rock against her, warmth coming over her fingers as he clenched around them. A moment later she followed suit, her knees giving out beneath her at her third orgasm of the night. Polly slumped forward against Maladict, who grabbed her around the waist and held her close against his heaving chest.

Piece by piece, the world coalesced again. With a handful of awkward coughs and some disentangling of limbs and a lot of clumsy fumbling with buttons, they put themselves back together. Polly was certain she still looked horribly disheveled. Maladict, rather annoyingly, looked just as handsome as ever, but she noted the marks on his neck with no small satisfaction.

Mal cleared his throat.

“I appreciate I may have approached this rather the wrong way round, but then, in times like these… Will you join me for dinner?”

“I join you for dinner every night, Mal.”

There was a hint of teasing in Polly’s voice, but it held more fondness than bite. She smiled.

“Yes, I’d like that.”

“I’m glad- there’s this lovely place I know, not too far from here, wonderful clearing with the finest dirt you could possibly sit upon.”

Almost on cue, Jackrum spoke from somewhere behind them. For reasons of stealth his voice wasn’t quite a bellow, but it certainly did its best to give the impression of one.

“Perks! Maladict! If an army marches on its stomach you two won’t be going anywhere. Get back here. I’ll have the privilege of warming this here log until one of your sorry little lot decides he’s eaten his fill.”

“Yes, Sarge,” replied Polly, while Maladict saluted.

They ate sat in a ragged circle, trading jokes with the rest of the squad and pretending the war didn’t exist. Soldiers were good at pretending; much like how everyone pretended not to notice Maladict swinging his legs across Polly’s lap, and when Jackrum’s shouting entered earshot everyone quite quickly pretended to be dreadfully busy.

And that night, lying under a blanket on only the third most uncomfortable floor that week, Polly found she didn’t know for sure what was pretend at all any more.


End file.
